A Road Familiar
by DeniseV
Summary: Missing scenes from the episode 3XK, from when Beckett and Esposito make it into the motel room to find Castle and Ryan bound, but alive.  I needed a little more Esposito/Ryan partner time, thank you very much.
1. Chapter 1

"Oh, man," Detective Kevin Ryan groaned as his partner kneeled beside him. The handcuff-bound and injured investigator pulled his head off of the floor and tried to maneuver himself up. His colleague and friend pushed him back down, his left hand on Kevin's chest, no purpose to it other than comfort, his other easing the hurt man's head back to the floor.

"Take it easy," Detective Javier Esposito said as he leaned over Ryan's back to get a better look at his face. "Let the EMTs take a look at you first." Esposito knew that his partner's face would tell the truth of the matter when the man's first instinct was to claim that he was fine.

"I said I'm okay," Ryan insisted, still trying to raise himself from the not-so-pleasant floor of the motel room.

"Ryan, stay put until you're checked out," Detective Kate Beckett demanded from her position next to her 'partner'. She continued to help Rick Castle from his restraints. Her rebuke had stilled Ryan.

"So, you'll listen to Beckett but you won't listen to me?" Esposito asked. He frowned when he felt the sticky wetness from his partner's head. He held his hand in place on his friend's chest as he felt again for the wound he now knew for sure was worse than Ryan was letting on.

"Well, yeah. I mean. . .yeah," Kevin replied, not a little woozily. "Ouch. Hey!" he yelled, though it, like everything else Ryan had said since Esposito and Beckett had entered, had been faint and filled with pain. The hurt agent frowned at his partner.

"You're bleeding," Javier explained.

"Ugh. They're gonna make me go to the hospital."

"They might," Esposito replied. "Just relax and maybe you'll get lucky," he added as he unlocked the second cuff and then carefully pulled Ryan's arms to the side and helped get his friend's body straightened. Javier had been on the wrong side of handcuffed behind his back. . .he knew how your arms had that uncomfortable pins and needles feeling for a while after being released. It felt nearly as bad as having your arms bound behind your back. . .physically. Psychologically, the effect of being cuffed could be far more traumatic. Javier knew he'd need to watch his partner for a while for any signs that he wasn't handling that part well.

Kevin sighed and settled down. They were both quiet as they waited for the ambulance that Beckett had called for when they suddenly spoke, in unison. It wasn't the first time, and it was, luckily as today's events played out, not to be the last.

"What happened?" Esposito asked. "You got here fast," Ryan said.

"We figured it out."

"Yeah," Kevin said, lifting his head and sending a strange look over to Castle and Beckett. "So did Castle," he added. Javier could tell there was more to the story.

"And?" he asked.

Kevin rested his head back on the floor and closed his eyes. "Apparently I was the only one who didn't get it."

"Whaddya mean? You didn't have the info Beckett and I had."

"Castle figured it out," Ryan noted morosely.

"How?" Esposito demanded. He was starting to get mad, and it wasn't anger at his partner as he continued to read his best friend, quickly coming to the realization that something had gone very wrong.

"Can I tell you later?" Kevin asked as his eyes remained closed, pain from the head wound – and something else – written across his expressive face.

"Sure, bro," Javier replied, recognizing Kevin's desire to for some reason be out of earshot of Castle and Beckett when he told his story. Esposito finished rubbing Ryan's arms, trying to get the circulation moving, and then patted his shoulder. "Shouldn't be much longer."

"'Kay. My head really hurts, Javi."

Javier frowned. It had to hurt bad for Kevin to admit it. "Do you know how long you were unconscious?" Esposito asked.

"No."

"About ten minutes," Rick Castle said as he kneeled next to the detective partners. He set his hand down on the floor but pulled it up quickly with a grimace as he felt the filthy goo that remained on his fingers. He wiped his hand on his pants. He saw Ryan roll his eyes and then moan for his troubles. He closed his eyes at the pair of Castles before him. Esposito eyed the writer suspiciously.

"That long?" Ryan asked, opening his eyes again and frowning. The frown was followed by a wince. He closed his eyes.

"Yeah," the novelist responded. He put his hand on Kevin's leg. Ryan opened his eyes. He wanted to keep them open but try as he might, he seemed on the losing end of that effort. Castle looked into the pain-filled blue eyes and said, chagrined, "Sorry." The injured detective closed his eyes once more. Castle stood and then he and Beckett headed out of the motel room.

"I'll send the EMTs up as soon as they get here," Beckett said as she crossed the threshold. Esposito saw the worried look in her face, but heard something more in her voice. What had Castle told her? He'd been so wrapped up with worry for his partner that he hadn't heard what else was going on around him. And what was Castle sorry for?

"What did he mean by that?" Javier asked.

Ryan opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. His eyes started tearing, a sometime side-effect of concussion. He shook his head back and forth on the carpet, which only served to aggravate his injury. He groaned and stopped that action.

"I guess I was a little slow on the uptake," Kevin muttered.

"What's that mean?"

"Well, you know how Castle figures things out, and how he's able to describe a scene how only Richard Castle can," Kevin noted with his best effort at a grin, and only barely hiding the slight case of hero worship, "like he's writing a paragraph right in front of you. . .like he's writing us into the scene?"

"Hey, you're more impressed by that than I am, bro." Ryan closed his eyes and stopped talking for a moment. Esposito realized that he'd interrupted, and a little rudely. "Sorry. Go on."

"He started explaining how it seemed odd for someone just out of prison to have a big carry-all full of stuff. And then he went on about the girlfriend, how Jerry hadn't asked about her yet." Kevin paused and then looked Javier right in the eye. "And then he announced that Jerry was the triple killer."

"What?" Esposito practically shrieked. "He blindsided you?"

"I don't think he meant to, Javi."

"That doesn't matter. You could have been killed. You both could be dead right now."

"Javi. . ."

"Kev, don't Javi me. Look, Castle's good, I'll give him that. And as my mom likes to say, he wasn't born yesterday. You were his partner today. _Partner_," Esposito emphasized. "That's important, and he needs to treat you with the same respect and concern that he affords Beckett. And besides, all that crap he does in describing a scene? There's a time and a place for that: in the squad room with us; at a crime scene – with lots of back-up; in a secured interrogation room with a suspect – and one of us." Esposito looked around the room, waved his arm about and emphasized, "Not here."

Ryan started struggling to get up, recognizing that he'd lit a fuse in his partner; the explosion to come would not be pretty.

"Stay put, Kevin. I'm not kidding."

"Javi. . ."

"Don't excuse him, Kevin. He needs to think before he speaks. How many times have we heard Beckett tell him that?" Kevin wiped the wetness from his face as he lay back down. The room was spinning, but things seemed to settle once Javier looked into his best friend's eyes. "We have to tell Beckett."

"I know."

Esposito looked closely at his colleague. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Really?" Ryan challenged. "Where's my gun? My badge? My wallet?"

"Kev. . ."

"I should've been able to. . ."

"Cut it out!" Javier ordered. "He's a killer. And you were blindsided by your partner. Come on!"

Ryan quieted down once more. Esposito was going to speak again. . .he was by no means finished with what he wanted to say about today's events. He was angry. So angry. He wanted to stress to his partner that you don't do what Castle did – ever – in front of a suspect. Not without letting your partner in on it. As soon as you think of someone as a suspect you have to temper what you say in front of them. Castle wasn't a trained detective but he had to know that, and Esposito would be the one to remind him of it. But right now, looking at his hurting friend, watching him suffer physical pain - and unwarranted emotional embarrassment at the loss of his weapon, his badge – Javier Esposito knew that he would try his damnedest to control himself and just do the most important thing right now: take care of his partner.

The EMTs entered and forced Esposito away from Ryan. They placed a collar on the injured detective and checked him over. They cleaned the cut on his head and asked the requisite questions of a basic neurological exam. The medics – and Esposito – insisted that Ryan be carried downstairs. But once he was down and only showing – at worst – signs of a mild concussion, primarily a miserably painful headache, but also dizziness and exhaustion, the EMTs agreed to allow Kevin up, so long as he agreed to lean up against the back of the truck. They removed the collar. Slight unsteadiness was set right by his partner, who agreed that Kevin could waive the trip to the ER so long as Beckett was okay with it. Esposito looked over as his boss and Castle stood and headed their way.

"Javier?" Kevin asked softly.

"Yeah?" Esposito replied, his jaw. . .his entire demeanor tense. He stared Castle down as the pair approached.

"Can we do this at the station?"

"Why?"

Kevin rubbed his eyes and then his forehead. He knew his intensely protective partner was ready to make a scene as he made his point, but Ryan was in no shape, either physically or emotionally, to deal with that kind of confrontation between his two friends.

"Because I asked?" Intensely blue puppy dog eyes worked their magic, but the EMT seemed to be working overtime to make Ryan's night just a little worse than it already was.

"He's not going back to work tonight," she said as she looked up from filling out the waiver form. "You only get one of these," she continued, waving the waiver between the two detectives, "if he goes home," she added, nodding towards Ryan as she spoke to Esposito, "and someone stays with him until morning – at minimum – and follows these instructions," she finished, waving the standard pre-printed form for what to check for with patients suffering minor concussions.

Ryan hardly acknowledged the conversation, still intent on getting a concession from his friend. "Bro," Kevin pleaded with his partner.

"I gotta talk to her, Kev," Javier insisted, meaning Beckett. To the EMT, Esposito said, "I'm taking him home."

"Be nice," Kevin persisted, conceding that he wouldn't get what he wanted, knowing that Esposito and Beckett needed to talk.

"I'll be nice," Esposito agreed as he went to intercept Beckett. Kevin watched dejectedly as his partner left to play nice with their boss. Ryan dropped his chin wearily to his chest.

In what seemed like seconds but what had obviously been many minutes, Kevin was shaken out of a light doze by his best friend.

"Let's go."

Ryan blinked as he realized he'd been asleep leaning on the back of the ambulance, propped up on either side as he napped by the two EMTs.

"Sorry," he said to the pair. To Esposito he asked, "Didya tell 'er?" He yawned.

"Didn't have to," Javier said as he took Ryan by the elbow and walked him to their car. "Castle told her everything. She said we'll deal with it tomorrow."

"Good," Kevin said as he kept a steady albeit slightly wobbly pace to the car. The dark night and the street and police lights were playing with his already dizzy state to make him feel like he was failing a sobriety test.

"Yeah, well, none of this is good, bro."

"Except I'm still alive. So's Castle."

"Only 'til I kill 'im," Esposito growled, not sounding at all like he was speaking in jest. Ryan sighed.

Javier heard the sigh. He stopped, keeping a hold of Ryan, which made his partner stop as well. Esposito turned to face his friend, without doubt the most important person in his life. You didn't spend the kind of time together that partners did and not develop something special. Their different backgrounds had soon been made up for in similar likes and interests and a warm and abiding friendship had developed, lightning-fast. "Look, it's been a rough day, I got that, bud. But what he did. . . You could. . .I mighta lost. . ." Esposito didn't finish the thought. He knew that he didn't have to. He looked away, shook his head and then found intense fascination with his shoes. His best friend reached out to him and grasped him affectionately on the back of the neck. It might have helped steady Kevin Ryan as they continued their walk to the car, but the touch provided so very much more than that to his partner. They were in for a long night ahead, one of concussion checks and likely repeated trips to the bathroom, restless, pain-filled sleep on the part of one partner, very little if any sleep for the other. They'd been down that road before. But together, as always.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ya all right?" Esposito asked as he took one more lap around the block. Finding a parking spot near Ryan's place was always a challenge; they usually tried to leave work no later than five, when it was rarely possible, despite often getting to a crime scene before five in the morning, knowing that before the end of the family dinnertime timeframe was usually gold, even if it meant walking a block or two. They'd missed their window this night. . .a mere fifteen minutes had done them in and forced them into their fourth time along the four block by four block game of tic-tac-toe they were playing to find a legal spot; Detective Javier Esposito was damned if he'd be ticketed again, even if the parking police were now just doing it to him for kicks.

"Uhng," Ryan replied.

Speaking of done in.

Ryan's head rested in his hand, which was propped up by his elbow as it rested on the passenger-side arm rest. He was sunk low in his seat in an attempt to keep the flashing nighttime lights from blinking a disco ball whirlpool into his concussion-fueled hyper sensitized eyes. He knew his partner was worried about him. The injured detective hadn't said a word the entire ride home, but he was pretty sure he let a moan or two out. He hadn't intended to do that, but driving around and around in his home borough was doing nothing for his killer headache. Or other things.

"That's really not helping me, bro," Javier said as he continued sending surreptitious glances his partner's way while trying not to sideswipe any of the cars parked in the street. When Esposito was a kid, some of those cars would have been worth points, big points if the vehicle belonged to someone who'd messed with him or his family or his troops. God, he'd been such a punk in his youth. He felt damned lucky to have come out of that time unscathed, the military – and maturity – melding at just the right time. He glanced at his partner again. . .more good luck there, though not right at this second, especially if one were to interrogate one Kevin Ryan. Esposito figured getting out of this drive without a mess to clean up would fit right in with his best friend's crap luck of a day.

But it really hadn't been a bad luck day after all, had it? The telltale decider on that matter was that Kevin Ryan was still alive.

"You feelin' sick yet?" Javier asked.

Kevin hadn't been when his partner had asked him that question the first time; it seemed the third time was the charm. Though he had considerable self-control where upchucking was concerned, the merry-go-round they'd been stuck on here in his neighborhood was what truly done him in. He could actually feel the cold sweat develop on his skin, starting from his forehead. It spread across and down his face and then enveloped his neck as he tried valiantly to stave off the nausea.

"Pull over," Kevin said, sounding urgent, and defeated. A small alley a few cars ahead was the best bet his best friend could do, though Javier had clearly floored it in an effort to get to the destination as fast as possible. Ryan opened the door before the car had stopped, using it as a crutch to keep himself from falling to the pavement. He took a few wobbly paces into the alley and headed for the nearest erect structure: a brick wall. Esposito jumped from the driver's seat and joined his partner under the spotlight of the flickering streetlamp.

Kevin held onto the wall with one hand as he rubbed his forehead with the other. He hated this. He knew he had to throw up, but now his body seemed to be playing tricks with him. He moaned, leaned his forehead on the rough terracotta-colored brick, and panted.

"Hey," Javier said. He put his hand on Kevin's back.

"Shit," Ryan said through the puffs of air as he breathed through the nausea. Kevin started to sway forward and backward, his head grinding into the rough stone surface.

"Come on. Stop that. You're gonna hurt yourself," Javier continued. Kevin's panting took on the same beat as the movement of the concussed man's body. Esposito brought his hand up to Ryan's neck; he could feel the dampness of sweat on the soaked collar as he rubbed, trying to provide a modicum of comfort to his friend.

"Back," Kevin warned. Javier took a half a step back just before his partner vomited. The initial contractions forced the exhausted man downward, though his hand remained clutching at the wall. Esposito knew that Ryan's hand would come away bloody if he didn't grab it fast; the man's wrists were already sore, abraded from the unnecessary tight fit of the handcuffs. He took Kevin's left hand in his own and then grasped the ill man around the waist to ease him to his knees. It wasn't a pretty effort, and they both hit the crumbled old tar-bound macadam hard, in the end. Ryan struggled to head to the right, away from the sizable puddle he'd already created. . .away from possibly soiling his partner. That was all he needed to pile onto the indignities that he'd already suffered on this god-awful day.

Just how god-awful the day was, Javier Esposito would counter, was all a matter of perspective.

"I've got ya," Javier said.

"Don't. . ." Kevin started, but some of the residual bile caught in his throat and he coughed. The cough, and another spasm of vomiting, all at once, tore the breath from him. Kevin's right hand landed on the ground as he heaved. He finally caught a decent breath, but also found that his hand had landed in his own mess.

"Uh, g. . .gross," Ryan eked out.

"'s no worse than where your head was layin' on that motel room floor, bro," Esposito noted, trying to lighten the moment.

"Thanks," Kevin wheezed out, his throat burning. He scratched out more: "Like I could'na gone my whole life not knowin' th't." Ryan was fading, faster now that he'd expended so much energy in the alley. He finished wiping his hand with the handkerchief his partner had given him.

"Ready to get up?" Esposito asked.

Ryan nodded, speech no longer appealing, what with the wheezing and the abused throat. They made their way to the car. By the time Esposito pulled away from the alley, Ryan had started to doze. Javier decided to concede him the rest; he was bound to find a place to park before he had to do his first neuro check on his concussed partner.

Another couple of trips around the carousel of Ryan's neighborhood resulted in a spot opening up. Spaces always opened up after seven-thirty, eight o'clock, when people started heading out for a night on the town, a late dinner. It was a major reason why Ryan never seemed to mind working a little later than his partner did.

That rarely meant that one could find Detective Ryan working alone.

Esposito parked and called to his friend, "Come on, Ryan. Gotta get up."

"'s time for work?" Kevin asked, his eyelids slits as he began to grind the bleariness from his eyes with his fists. He stopped that action quickly as it caused increasing pain to his already aching head. He looked at his wrists, red and sore, his fingers seemed similarly abused. He sniffed and smelled a hint of vomit. Ryan frowned and looked damned disoriented to his partner.

"No, time for bed," Javier corrected. Kevin's forehead wrinkled more as the realization dawned of why he was waking up in the car, why his wrists ached, why he smelled so bad, and why his head pounded with a heavy-metal beat.

"Jerry," he said.

"Yeah," Esposito nodded. He watched as Ryan accepted the reality of the day's events, possibly for the first time since he'd woken up on the floor in Jerry Tyson's motel room.

"He got away."

"Yeah."

"Damn it," Kevin said, rubbing his forehead. "I can't believe I. . ."

"Don't. Do. Not. Say It. Not your fault, bro," Javier said

Kevin shook his head. "I was the only cop on the scene, Javi," he said as he looked into his best friend's eyes. "I was the cop that let him go."

"Tell ya what," Javier said, not willing to allow his partner to dwell on this. Ryan would need a clearer head than his concussion was allowing just this moment before he would be willing to accept less than full culpability in letting Tyson get away. "Let's get inside, get ya a little cleaned up and then get ya to bed. I think you'll see things more clearly once you've slept.

"Doubt it," Kevin mumbled as he made his second attempt to grab the door handle.

"You okay?" Javier asked, worried about his partner's inefficient motor skills. Just another check in the yes column on the form he was given by the EMT.

"Handle's movin'," the injured man slurred.

Check on slurred speech. Check vertigo.

"Stay there. I'll catch it," Esposito said with a sad smile.

"Thanks." Javier put his hand on his friend's thigh and patted it affectionately. He exited the car and jogged to the sidewalk. . .and the passenger side of the car. He opened the door and reached across his listless partner to undo the seatbelt.

"Let's go," he said, practically manhandling Ryan up. Kevin, for his part, didn't complain about the rough treatment, and even started out managing to maintain a straight line to the stoop, up the steps and through the door. That's when things got a little dicey. About halfway up the first flight of stairs to Ryan's third floor apartment, Kevin started to fade. He leaned into his partner, who took up the slack, but not without comment.

"You had to have a walk-up," Javier grouched.

"Charm," Kevin puffed out.

"Yeah, there's loads of charm luggin' your sorry butt up these stairs."

"Sorry." Esposito sighed. That wasn't his intent, to make his partner feel worse than he already did. Ryan was in pain, feeling sick, feeling guilty. Good job, Esposito. Just pile on the poor guy. He'd made him apologize, for nothing.

And did Ryan have to be so polite about apologizing?

Of course he did.

Whereas Javier Esposito was an admitted punk in his youth, he was sure Kevin Ryan had been a certified Boy Scout. Actually, he knew that Kevin had been, albeit for the short period of time that he'd been in the youth organization. One night, over a few too many beers and a forgotten game of Madden – and after just wrapping a case on a hate crime murder – Kevin had told the story of how he'd left the troop, of how the sensibilities of a young kid couldn't jive with prejudice of the troop's leaders. No kids of color. . .other than white. . .allowed, and the unpleasant shunning of a child who had been assumed to be gay, had conspired to make Ryan's scouting adventure one of the shortest on record. The troop leaders never kicked the kid out; he'd ended up quitting on his own, not able to stand being ostracized in that way. Kevin still carried his own guilt about that incident, about how he'd stopped advancing their friendship, worried for. . .well, Javier knew Kevin wouldn't be like that now, but he'd only been a kid then. He knew what he'd done, or rather, not done, was wrong, even back then. It was why he quit the Boys Scouts right after those miserable events.

"Don't worry," Esposito said as he kept Ryan on his feet. The slow ascent gave Javier a chance to check out the stairwell with the nice deep moldings, the intricate ironwork on the banister, the marble steps with the mosaic border, the spectacular chandelier. Kevin really had found a gem of a place with this brownstone mansion-turned-condominiums.

"I w's. . ." Kevin stopped to clear his throat, "right, huh?" Ryan asked as he looked up woozily at his partner. Despite being mostly out of it, Kevin Ryan had still caught Javier Esposito checking out the great architectural "charm" of his building. Esposito winced at the scratchy, rough sound of Ryan's voice.

"Yeah, yeah. Big whoop," Esposito huffed in jest as they made it to the third floor. "And last apartment down the hall? What the hell, bro?" he asked mockingly.

Ryan snorted a laugh. "You jus' like t' c'mplain," Kevin noted lazily. "'Sides, back o' the building's quieter 'n' closer to the stairs t' the deck."

"That is a nice deck," Javier said, a hint of jealousy evident. They continued down the hall, Kevin occasionally veering toward a wall, Esposito always right there to right him.

"Got 'r own lil' community garden up there," Ryan rambled, in his current state not even remotely able to hide the pride in that comment. His voice, though, was showing the wear and tear of throwing up earlier, in addition to the general exhaustion that seemed to have consumed the detective.

Esposito knew all about the garden. Ryan mentioning it as though Esposito hadn't ever seen it just proved how tired the injured officer was.

"Yeah, I know. Remember, we picked some herbs, tomatoes and peppers that one time?" Javier asked.

"Oh yeah. I made you th't frittata, with the fresh salsa."

"That was really good. We'll need to do that again," Esposito said as he reached Ryan's door. He positioned Kevin up against the wall, grinning as Ryan held a dopey smile at the culinary memory, and held his friend in place with a hand on the unsteady man's chest while he unlocked the door with his other hand. Javier guided Kevin into the apartment, shut and locked the door, and then turned to get a good look at his partner.

Ryan was standing up, but he looked like he could readily fall asleep on his feet. Fact was, Esposito would be willing to wager that his best friend was already asleep, it's just that the rest of his body hadn't quite caught up with his mind, which clearly had other ideas. He grabbed Ryan's arm, shook it lightly, and then called his name.

"Kevin?"

Ryan's eyes popped open. He immediately swayed forward but was caught swiftly by his partner. Esposito hugged him affectionately, and laughed, a nervous laugh. . .and a desperately grateful one.

"Come on, time for nice Irish constables to head to bed. Do you need to use the head?"

Ryan snorted again. "Constable," he said with a happy grin. "D'you know th't you used head twice in one sent'nce?" His eyes were mere slits and he tried valiantly to stay awake.

Esposito shook his head and smiled. "That was two sentences, bro." He watched as Ryan went through the conversation in his head. Kevin nodded silently in acceptance of his error and then turned down the hallway.

"Gotta pee," he said finally, in reply to Javier's earlier query.

"Okay." He let Ryan walk the rest of the way on his own. "Wash your hands first," he called.

"Huh?" Kevin asked as he stopped and turned around gingerly, taking a steadying grab for the wall.

"Your hand?" Esposito reminded, raising his own right hand as a visual aid to his concussed partner.

Again, Kevin acknowledged the meaning of the conversation, silently agreeing that the advice from his partner was sound. He sniffed his hand and wearily uttered, "Oh, yuck."

Less than five minutes later Kevin Ryan was asleep in his bed. Esposito had been happy to notice that there seemed to be no signs of nausea as his friend came out of the bathroom. And he'd brushed his teeth, which meant a lot in relation to his condition, neurologically-speaking. Of course, the symptoms of concussion never came in a nice, tidy, chronologically-ordered package, so Javier knew that the nausea might only be at bay for now. And he would still have to wake Ryan every couple of hours. He made himself comfortable on Kevin's comfortable red road kill couch, the one he himself had paid to have professionally cleaned. He liked that couch, but could never understand how his smarter-than your-average-bear best friend could put something like that into his place – straight from the street. Javier shivered just thinking about it. Well, actually, the shiver was more likely brought on by the day's events, and pondering how differently the day might have turned out. Esposito pulled the throw from the back of the couch, hunkered down into the couch's comfort, set his alarm on his cell phone. . .and found sleep elusive. As different as today's ending could have been, there remained the fact that Jerry Tyson knew where Kevin Ryan lived. Javier Esposito checked his gun and then laid his head on his pillow that he'd grabbed from Ryan's closet earlier.

And sleep did not come.


	3. Chapter 3

Javier Esposito's patience was just about tapped out. He'd called looking for his boss, but Rick Castle had answered in her place. And the detective had hardly had a chance to get a word in before the conversation started resembling nothing if not a kamikaze fighter pilot in full suicide mode.

"Castle, he's not moving. He loves this place."

"Esposito, he's in danger if he stays there. Tyson knows where he lives."

Javier rolled his eyes. "Look, we'll keep an eye on things." Esposito was getting irritated…hadn't Castle caused enough trouble in the last twenty-four hours? "Ryan and me, we'll bulk up the security. It's a secure building, anyway. And I'm not lettin' 'im outta my sight for a while."

"This guy's tricky. Sneaky. And he's a killer. I think he should think about finding another place."

"Castle!" Esposito said loudly. He winced as he looked down the hall, hoping that he hadn't woken his healing partner. "You're over-reacting. We can't move our residence every time a perp finds out where we live. And besides. . .have you seen Ryan's place? He's got a sweet thing goin' here. I ain't gonna be the one to tell him he has to move."

"Huh?" Javier heard as he turned to the sound of the quiet, scratchy-yet-familiar voice. A decidedly rumpled Kevin Ryan looked at him quizzically from the hallway. Esposito looked to his partner, placed his hand over the phone's mouthpiece, whispered 'Castle' and shook his head as an indication to ignore what he just said. Kevin walked to his best friend and took the phone from him. Or attempted to; Javier fought him for ownership of the phone, and lost to a very determined Ryan.

"'m not movin'," he said, just barely awake. "'Sides, 'm not listen'n' t'you right now." Kevin looked to his partner, blinked a couple of times, smiled as his partner smiled back at him, and decided that was all he wanted to say, and then handed the phone back to his best friend. He walked to the red couch and lay down his clearly still aching head on Javier's pillow.

"Got that?" Esposito asked sharply as he spoke into the returned phone. "Oh. Sorry, Beckett. I was just…"

"I overheard. I'll talk to Castle. How's Ryan?" Detective Kate Beckett asked.

"I need to check. He slept pretty soundly this last couple of hours. He was up every couple of hours like clockwork upchucking."

"'m fine," came a plaintive call from the couch.

"He says he's fine. We'll probably be in this afternoon. He didn't get good sleep last night, so I'm gonna make him sleep some more," Esposito said.

"We need his statement. And then we need to talk about Tyson," Kate noted.

"Yeah, but you know he's gone under, for now."

"I know. But we still have to check every angle before we make that official on this case."

"Okay. We'll be in later." The detectives hung up.

"'m not gonna move. What the hell's wrong with Castle, anyway?" Ryan grumbled from his prone position on the couch. His feet were on the floor as the rest of his body was leaned over the nice, comfy pillow. Esposito reached around his best friend's legs and pulled them up onto the couch. He placed the throw over his friend.

"Get some more sleep." Esposito reached for the other throw in the room, the one his grandmom made. He placed that over his friend as well; Ryan had looked a little cold. "You'll forget that you were mad at him by the time you see him again." The one thing Kevin Ryan was, more than anyone else that Javier Esposito knew, was forgiving.

"No I won't."

"Yes you will."

"Whatever," Kevin grouched, too tired to argue. He yawned and then asked, "Don't we have to get to the precinct?"

"It's early. We'll go in this afternoon."

"D'you sleep?" Kevin asked, followed by a rhetorical, "How could you? You were up ev'ry time I was up. Bro, I am so sorry about that."

"About what?"

Ryan waved his hand toward the hallway, toward the bathroom. "You cleaned up after me, dragged me back t'bed."

Esposito stepped over to the coffee table and sat down in front of his friend. "What did ya think I would do, leave you lying on the floor next to the toilet?"

"Woulda been easier," Kevin noted softly. He moaned quietly and rubbed the palm of his hand on his forehead.

"I wouldn't do that." Javier looked closely at his partner. "You're still pretty pale, even for a pasty-faced white boy. How're you feelin'?"

"Head," Ryan started. He hissed and then added, "Hurts."

"Hold tight," Esposito said as he headed to the kitchen. He came back with a glass of water and two pills. He rubbed his best friend's arm to get him to open his eyes.

"Wha's this?" Kevin asked as he sat up and accepted the glass. He looked at the pills but was unable to focus enough to tell what he'd been given.

"Just extra strength Tylenol. Can't have anything stronger."

"I know," Ryan agreed. He took the two pills and guzzled the water, and then handed the glass back. "Thanks."

"Lay back down. You have several hours before you have to get up. Get some more sleep."

Javier started to turn, but Kevin grabbed his wrist. "What about you?"

"Me? I'll be right back." Esposito took the glass back and placed it in the dishwasher. He returned to the sofa, grabbed the pillow from the chair and used the other end of the couch to lie down.

"Good," Kevin slurred.

"You know, we couldn't do this if I didn't have this thing cleaned," Javier noted.

"Mmm. Nice."

"I'm just sayin'. . ."

"Thanks," Kevin murmured.

"I don't get how you can have a nice place and put this thing in it."

"Big, comfy. . ."

"It was disgusting," Esposito tried to point out.

"Comfy," Kevin insisted. "Want yer pillow?" he asked.

Javier snorted. "No. Go to sleep." He punched the small decorative pillow he was using for his head and then laid his head down on it.

"I c'n get my pillow," Kevin offered as he slowly forced himself into a sitting position.

"I will shoot you if you get up. Lay down. I'll get your pillow."

"Good idea."

Javier snorted again. He leaned down and placed his hand on Kevin's forehead and then rubbed his hand lightly over the tousled hair. "I always have good ideas, bro."

He got a smile and a slight nod of the head from the nearly dozing man on the red couch. A muffled, "Mm-hmm," morphed into a light snore. Javier smiled as he headed for Ryan's pillow. Their special bond, their familiarity with each other – familiar enough to use one another's pillows – it could easily have been lost in an instant the previous day. Esposito smiled as he grabbed the pillow from the bed. Kevin would be fine, and they would move on. And they would be wary of crazy serial killers who had their number. Because it's what they did.

The End.


End file.
